Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Not really,” I say, leveling a pointed stare. “You know all about my past and even helped me escape from it. So spill it.”
I get a husky laugh and she capitulates. “My love life is nonexistent. Last serious relationship ended about three years ago.”
Three years. My brain catches on it, rolls it around. Long time to be single, but it’s about the same amount of time since I broke up with Cherry.
I shift my weight and lean my elbow on the railing as I turn more fully toward her. “Why’d it end?”
She takes a beat, eyes tracking something distant on the horizon. I give her the space without rushing it, resisting the urge to fill the quiet.
“He couldn’t decide anything.”
My brow furrows slightly. “Like commitment?”
“No.” She shakes her head, almost amused by the assumption. “He was committed, but couldn’t choose anything else. Plans, direction, next steps—everything came back to me. Always waiting for me to decide.”
The puzzle pieces start to align. I know that kind of man. I’ve watched teammates drown under it. I’ve seen relationships quietly rot because one person carried all the weight.
“It was exhausting,” she continues, voice steady. “And eventually, unattractive.”
That resonates. When behavior affects attractiveness. Physical looks are a boon and it’s what catches eyes, but it’s the day-to-day actions that either breed connection or push two people apart. I think of Cherry—how confidence had curdled into performance, how neediness had disguised itself as devotion.
There came a point where she didn’t do it for me anymore.
My mouth quirks despite myself. “So, you like alpha guys.”
It’s half a joke. Half a test. I hate that I care about the answer.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “Not alpha meatheads. Men who are confident. Self-aware. Possessed.” Her gaze holds mine, unflinching. “It’s nice when a man takes control every once in a while.”
The words don’t feel flirtatious so much as declarative. And it paints a new layer to Juno. She’s obviously someone who is incredibly strong and self-sufficient, but it’s quite the admission to say she doesn’t like being in control all the time. I’d go so far as to say she’s admitting a vulnerability.
It’s also not lost on me that based on her definition, I’d be her perfect type.
Hearing her name is a dangerous hit to my carefully stacked restraint.
I feel the air between us tighten, almost like that second before a puck drops when everyone is waiting to see how things will unfold.
“So,” I say carefully, because this matters and I don’t want to misread it, “if I were considering whether to kiss you…” Her eyes flare and her breath catches. “You’d be far more attracted to me if I just did it,” I continue, voice lower now, “rather than waffling or asking permission.”
“Yes,” she says, without hesitation. So quickly, so adamantly, it’s almost as if she’s the one demanding action.
That’s all it takes.
I close the distance—not rushed, not tentative. One hand comes up to her jaw, thumb brushing along her cheek like I’m memorizing the shape of her, and then my mouth is on hers. Slow at first.
The kind of kiss that says I know exactly what I’m doing.
Controlling.
Juno responds immediately, like she’s been waiting for it. Her fingers curl into the front of my jacket and pull me closer. The kiss deepens—warmer, hungrier—until restraint starts to feel like a bad idea. I shift our stance, crowding her space enough to make a point, and she doesn’t retreat.
Instead, she leans back against the railing, and I lean in.
My hand slides from her jaw to her waist, then lower, pulling her flush against me. I feel the hitch in her breath as she feels every single hard inch of me.
Juno’s not shy. Her hands roam—confident, exploratory—like she’s as aware of what this is turning into as I am.
This isn’t about her past or mine.
This is choice.
I kiss her again, harder this time, my mouth tracing the corner of hers, down along her jaw, back to her lips. She makes a soft sound that goes straight through me, and I have to brace one hand on the railing to keep myself from falling all the way into her.
She pulls back enough to speak, breathless but composed. “How about we take this somewhere more private?”
I go absolutely still, because if I get Juno somewhere private, and we kiss like this… well, things will go all the way.
I rest my forehead against hers, forcing myself to breathe. “You sure about that?”
Please be sure. Please fucking be sure.
“I am,” she murmurs, fingers digging down into the front of my belt by an inch. Oh, the promise that’s there. “Are you?”
I answer with a game plan, lifting my head to peer down at her. “My place won’t work.”
Her brow lifts. “Why not?”
“My sister’s there,” I say, the words almost painful to admit. “And I don’t feel like explaining this to Birdie right now.”